NEWMAN: All right, it's true! Of course nobody needs mail. What do you think, you're so clever for figuring that out? But you don't know the half of what goes on here. So just walk away, Kramer. I beg of you.

KRAMER: (handing out anti-mail pamphlets) Here you go. Mail is evil. Pass it on. Hey, mail blows. Fax it to a friend.

WOMAN: Why does this dummy have a bucket on its head?

KRAMER: Because we're blind to their tyranny.

WOMAN: Then shouldn't you be wearing the bucket?

KRAMER: Yeah. Move along, Betty.

FRANKIE: Is this, uh, Jerry Seinfeld's van?

KRAMER: Well, not anymore. He traded it to me for some Hollywood memorabilia.

FRANKIE: I'm, uh, I'm so stupid.

KRAMER: What?

FRANKIE: (running away) I'm so stupid. Uh, excuse me. I'm sorry.

KRAMER: Yeah, nice to meet you.

[Monks]

JERRY: She's into it?

GEORGE: She's leaving me dirty messages on my answering machine.

JERRY: So have your parents found out about it?

GEORGE: She wants to keep it quiet. She... thinks we have a real future together.

JERRY: Brave new world, alright.

KRAMER: (entering Monk's) Hey, you guys.

JERRY: Hey, how's the anti-mail campaign going?

KRAMER: Oh, it's fantastic. We were out in front of the post office today, and not one person went in.

JERRY: It's Sunday.

GEORGE: Why is the mailman wearing a bucket?

KRAMER: Huh? Well, it symbolizes our persecution.

GEORGE: Then... shouldn't you be wearing the bucket.

JERRY: Hey, I want my van keys back.

KRAMER: Oh, well. I, uh, thought we made a deal for Quinn's t-shirt.

JERRY: Are you insane? Give 'em to me.

KRAMER: No, I can't, I can't. See, I told Frank he could borrow it. Yeah, he wants to move some of George's stuff into storage.

GEORGE: Wait a minute? He's picking up the van tonight? This is perfect. I'll drive Rhisa to someplace romantic. Then when my father slides the door open, I'm in the van kissing his brother's daughter.

KRAMER: Oh, listen, Jerry. One of your friends came by and he was very upset that I had your wheels.

JERRY: Oh, no, not Frankie.

KRAMER: Well, I didn't catch his name, but then he went running into the park.

JERRY: Oh, no, the woods! The hole!

[Street]

KRAMER: (seeing Newman pull up along side him in his truck) Hey.

NEWMAN: Kramer, what the hell are you doing?

KRAMER: I know, I'm gonna switch the bucket to something else.

NEWMAN: Not that!

KRAMER: What?

NEWMAN: You're in trouble, Kramer. I shouldn't even be talking to you, but I'm telling you as a friend. Here's how it's going to happen: you may be walking. Maybe on a crisp, autumn day just like today. When a mail truck will slow beside you, and a door will open, and a mailman you know, maybe even trust, will offer to give you a lift.

JERRY: (finding Frankie, in his hole) Frankie... come on out of there.

FRANKIE: You hate the van.

JERRY: But I'm keeping it. As much as I hate the idea of being a van guy, it's much better than hanging out here with the nocturnal dirt people.

FRANKIE: So, can we go for a ride?

JERRY: Yeah, let's just get out of here.

HOLE DIGGER #2: (eyeing the empty hole, and getting into it) Are you done with that?

[Another Part of The Woods]

FRANK: (coming upon the van) Good. He left the door unlocked.

ESTELLE: Why did Kramer have to park the van in the woods?

FRANK: Isn't it obvious? There are no parking meters out here.

ESTELLE: (looking inside of the van) Wow!

FRANK: (reclining the seats in the van to a bed) Hey, look at this. Hoochie mama!

[Post Office]

POSTMASTER GENERAL: Oh, my goodness. What have they done to you here?

KRAMER: Huh? Who are you?

POSTMASTER GENERAL: Well, you can just call me Henry.

KRAMER: Henry Atkins? The postmaster general?

POSTMASTER GENERAL: Last time I checked.

KRAMER: Henry... can I get out of here now?

POSTMASTER GENERAL: Oh, oh. Sit a bit. Sit a bit. I mean, after all, I drove all the way up here from D.C. just to talk to you.

KRAMER: Oh?

POSTMASTER GENERAL: I even had to cancel a round of golf with the secretary of state. Do you like golf, Mr. Kramer?

KRAMER: Yeah.

POSTMASTER GENERAL: Kramer, I've been, uh, reading some of your material here. I gotta be honest with you: you make a pretty strong case. I mean, just imagine. An army of men in wool pants running through the neighborhood handing out pottery catalogs, door to door.

KRAMER: Yeah! Ha ha.

POSTMASTER GENERAL: Well, it's my job. And I'm pretty damn serious about it. In addition to being a postmaster, I'm a general. And we both know, it's the job of a general to, by God, get things done. So maybe you can understand why I get a little irritated when someone calls me away from my golf.

KRAMER: I'm very, very sorry.

POSTMASTER GENERAL: Sure, you're sorry. I think we got a stack of mail out at the desk that belongs to you. Now, you want that mail, don't you Mr. Kramer?